


Thank God we're homeward bound

by LadyStrange



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Baby is a ship, Blink And You Miss It Slash, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Navy!Sam, POV Sam Winchester, Pirate Dean Winchester, Pirate Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Gets a Hug, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyStrange/pseuds/LadyStrange
Summary: “Samuel William Winchester, you have been accused of treason perpetrated against His Majesty. Piracy. And of the murder of Pastor Murphy. You have been sentenced to death by hanging. May God have mercy of your soul."Within hours of sunrise and his sentence, Sam Winchester, Navy soldier, thinks back on the events that brought him in that cell and how to get out of there alive.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 90





	Thank God we're homeward bound

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Thank God we're homeward bound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275957) by [LadyStrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyStrange/pseuds/LadyStrange). 



“Sleep well, Winchester…tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.” One of the guards was standing just outside his cell, an evil grin on his lips. “I mean. For most of us.”

Sam was laying curled on his side on the rotting wooden bench, his uniform coat covering him from the drafts that seemed to come from every side of his cell.

From the tiny underground window, he could hear the sound of the gallows being built in the main square.

Less than five hours to sunrise. He would not manage to escape.

With a long sigh, Sam rolled on his back and tried to ignore the sharp pain in his back the movement caused. No position would have been better, his comrades had been very diligent in making sure they did not leave any untouched spot while kicking and punching him.

Treason.

Piracy.

All because Sam had sabotaged the ship and prevented His Majesty’s Navy to catch up to a ‘dirty run down pirate tub’.

If only they knew, if only they could hear Sam’s heartbeat grow faster at the sight of that black flag, at the sight of that skull and that gun. He just ran below deck while everyone ran to get their weapons and sabotaged the ship before they could get close enough to read the words carved on the barrel of that gun.

‘Non timebo mala’.

Sam had stared his father and brother’s ship disappear on the horizon knowing he just signed his own death sentence.

I will fear no evil.

Maybe he signed his sentence the day he touched the helm of that ship before abandoning it forever. The day he renounced himself and his family searching for a normal life, looking for laws and orders that wouldn’t be his father’s, the day he last saw his brother standing in the crow’s nest and screaming his name.

Dean.

Sam sat up with a small grunt. No. That is not how Winchesters die.

“Guard!” He called, getting up and letting the coat fall off his body, uncovering every single bruise and cut that decorated his arms and torso. “Guard… a priest. I want to speak to a priest.” He demanded as he walked up to the bars. He watched the two soldiers sitting at a small table turn to look at him and exchange some quiet words. No doubt some officials ordered them not to let him speak with anyone. But he knew they wouldn’t deny him the right to see a priest a few hours before his sentence. He also knew there was only one priest in town who would come give the last rites to a prisoner accused of piracy and treason.

***

“You’re not allowed in, Pastor Murphy.”

“Are you going to let the prisoner out?”

“…no. Of course not.”

“Then open the cell. I will not commend a young man’s soul to our Lord without being able to hold his hands.”

“Yessir.”

Sam looked up when the cell opened and locked eyes with Pastor Jim.

“Oh, poor child.” The man came close slowly and sat next to him, taking his hands. “What is your name?”

“Samuel, Pastor. Sam.”

The two of them shared a look and a silent conversation.

Pastor Murphy was the only person in town who was aware of his past. Sam had spent more than a night kneeling in Pastor Murphy’s tiny Catholic church; crying in there during his first days away from home, waking up to Dean’s distant and desperate voice begging him to come back.

Jim never judged his choice. He knew the kind of monsters Sam left behind, he knew John never let his children live like normal boys.

“In nómine Patris, et Fílii et Spíritus Sancti.”

“Amen.”

Sam nodded at the use of Latin, folded his hands and started saying the Lord’s Prayer:

“Pater noster, qui es in cælis: sanctificétur Nomen Tuum, advéniat Regnum Tuum, fiat volúntas Tua, sicut in cælo, et in terra.” He talked softly, letting his gaze wander to the guards that were chatting with each other. “Adiuva me. Egeo frater meus.” He added before he continued with the prayer. “Panem nostrum, cotidiánum da nobis hódie, et dimítte nobis débita nostra, sicut et nos dimíttimus debitóribus nostris. et ne nos indúcas in tentatiónem; sed líbera nos a Malo.”

“Amen.” The priest answered with a tiny nod before he started blessing the holy oil and asking forgiveness for his soul.

Sam found himself silently praying. He had abandoned the sacred mission his father took on when that demon killed his mother. And he did that on a whim, so he could live like a normal lad on the land and in the end didn’t manage to keep his feet out of the water one month before he signed his life away for a King he never even recognized as such. Sam was a seaman; his place was not here, not on those fancy ships with a uniform on. Sam’s place was at the helm of the Impala next to his brother, wearing clothes that smelled of salt and gunpowder, his hands worn out by ropes and nets.

The heat of the holy oil on his hands and forehead brought him back to reality and Sam opened his eyes to stare at Pastor Jim who, after laying his hands on his head, wrapped his hands around Sam’s. “Be strong, my child.” He told him, pushing a small sachet between Sam’s intertwined fingers. “The _fire_ of our Lord will cleanse you and you will be redeemed of all your sins.” He added before he walked away, leaving him alone in that dark cell.

Less than three hours to sunrise, a message for his brother that might not arrive in time and barely a handful of gunpowder to get himself out of there. 

***

The guards were asleep. Sam poured the gunpowder in the lock of the door and grabbed one sleeve of his coat, tossing it repeatedly over the lit torch in the hall until the fabric caught on fire then let it hang on the door and moved aside.

The lock exploded loudly and Sam wasted no time checking on the guards; he ran the other way and up the stairs, letting adrenaline push him past his limits.

The tocsin started ringing as Sam got to the ground floor of the fort and didn’t stop, continuing up the stairs towards the soldier’s quarters and hid in an empty room, leaning against the wall behind the door: he must have a few broken ribs, every breath burned in his chest like a red-hot blade. He had to get out of there. He had to find normal clothes and run away to the port. Dean would wait him there. Dean would come to get him…right?

Of course he would. Of course, he needed to stop thinking about this bullshit and focus. He faced worse than a fortress full of soldiers ready to shoot at sight. Sam pushed himself off the wall and started opening the trunks in the room, abandoning the heavy velvet uniform and putting on some black breeches and an olive shirt. Looking himself in the mirror, Sam recognized the face staring back for the first time in years: the broken nose, a cut on his forehead and a fresh red bruise on his neck. If that had been a hickey – and if his hair had been longer – the person in the mirror would have been the same kiddo that left the Impala just hours before.

“I miss long hair.” Sam muttered before he grabbed one of the decorative swords hanging crossed on the wall and slipped out in the hallway, looking for a way out. He heard steps getting close and Sam stopped, glancing around before quickly walking outside in one of the balconies overlooking the moat surrounding the fort and citadel. If only he could cross it…

“Sam?”

The whisper came from the hall and the steps got closer. “Sam, come out. I found your uniform. Where are you?”

Sam recognized that voice. “Brady?” He hissed, opening the door a crack.

“Sam! What the fuck did you do?”

Lieutenant Tyson Brady walked out on the balcony, closing the door behind himself. “They took you away from the ship in chains, I couldn’t stop them. And while I was talking to the judge to get you out of trouble they tell me you escaped the prison?” He asked and shook his head. “You always gotta complicate things, don’t you Winchester?”

Sam smiled a little, finally relaxing. Brady was a friend, a comrade, they enlisted pretty much at the same time and, even if he probably wouldn’t approve of his reason, he did try to help him; he would help him get out. “Complicated is my middle name.”

“I thought it was William.” Brady smirked.

A shudder ran down Sam’s spine.

“I never told you my middle name.”

“There are so many things I know about you, Samuel, that you never mentioned. You’re pretty famous where I come from.”

“Famous…sure.” Sam repeated, lifting the sword between them and getting ready to fight.

“The chosen one…future king of hell.”

His eyes turned black in an instant and Sam took half step back, his grip tightening on the sword enough to feel the jewels in the hilt digging into his palm.

“I had to figure out something to get you back out there, and I knew that if you saw your pathetic crew in danger you’d do something stupid and abandon this idea to be a soldier. It was fun at first, but being your nanny while you play rebel child got boring quickly. So I got involved.”

“You son--”

Sam brought his hand instinctively to his neck to grab the cross there but he stopped. There was nothing.

Brady smiled again; lifting a hand and watching Sam hover in the air with the movement.

“Sam, Sam, Sam.” He teased. “I suggested to the guards to get all those potentially _dangerous_ objects off you. I was going to come to you before sunrise, offer you more time on Earth…” He laughed. “The priest was an unexpected surprise but he’s not going to bother us anymore.”

Sam gritted his teeth, swallowing hard.

“Exorcizamus te, omni imm-”

Sam flew a few feet away, hitting the marble banister hard and barely managing to grab it, his sword falling in the water beneath. Brady walked over, resting his elbows on the banister and watched him dangle and look for a handhold.

“You know why you never got up in ranks Sammy?”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”

“Because you can’t keep your mouth shut!”

Brady grabbed his shirt and lifted him at eye level. “No prayers Sam. We’re friends here, just chatting.” He scolded in the same tone one would use with a kid throwing a tantrum.

Sam nodded slowly and put his hands on the banister, letting Brady get hold of his arms to help him climb over before he reached for his shoulders, pressing their foreheads together, the demon crying out at the contact with holy oil.

“Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii…”

Brady pushed him away with a scream and Sam fell; the impact with freezing water cut his breath and Sam tried to swim up only to be stopped by two hands. Opening his eyes, Sam saw Brady above him, forehead bleeding and a look of rage on his face as he kept him underwater.

Sam tried to fight but he knew the demon would beat him. He reached out to the bottom and managed to grab a rock and hit Brady in the head, which gave him enough time to surface and take a deep breath of fresh air, trying desperately to jump and get a grip on the edge of the moat so he could escape. He could feel the dirt slipping through his fingers and his ears were ringing from being underwater so long; he had to get out of there, had to run.

“Stop right there!”

Sam looked up to see three muskets aimed at him.

Brady smiled as they were pulled out of the water and heavy chains were clasped around his wrists and ankles.

Less than an hour to sunrise and Sam was tied down once more.

***

Sam was sitting on a stool in the middle of the cell, the clothes still dripping on, and head hanging tiredly. He was shaking, cold and probably feverish; there were new bruises keeping company to the ones of the night before; blood was dripping from his mouth – where he was hit with the butt of a musket – to his chest, leaving a large stain right above his heart.

He was awake despite all and he could hear the birds starting to sing. Sunrise. Someone in the square, right out of his window, was whistling a familiar melody.

“Our stuns'ls booms are carried away; what care we for that sound? A living gale is after us; Thank God we're homeward bound.”

He breathed out the old song. Bobby learned it in the Navy, many years before and Sam heard the man sing it so many times. Passing through a storm with ripped sails while you’re away from home. Home. God, he missed the Impala so much.

“Bring the prisoner.”

Someone announced from the square a few moments before the clock tower struck six. Sunrise.

One of the guards pulled him upright and tugged him behind himself on the chain like some wild animal. There was people gathered in the square when they walked out, Brady was sitting a few feet from the platform next to the judge who sentenced him, smiling at him, blinking his black eyes before he turned to talk to other officers.

Sam’s gaze wandered on the faces of the people that were going to watch him die and he did not recognize any friendly one.

“Samuel William Winchester, you have been accused of treason perpetrated against His Majesty…”

The hangman was waiting for him at the gallows; the hooded man in black untied the chains on his ankles so he could walk up the steps and positioned him on the center of the platform, right above the trap door, wrapping the noose around his neck before he took a black handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned up the blood from his chin in a gesture that was almost tender.

“…Piracy…”

Sam started lifting his eyes to meet the hangman’s.

“And of the murder of Pastor Murphy.”

No.

Sam’s head snapped towards the judge, towards Brady. Bastard.

“You have been sentenced to death by hanging.”

The hangman moved to stand behind him to tighten the noose.

“Look forward.” He ordered in a whisper but his eyes were still glued to the demon.

“Look forward, Sammy.”

Blue and white.

The port.

The doors of the citadel were open, right in front of the gallows and Sam could see the harbor in the distance, the blue ocean and a multitude of white sails.

Black.

A glimpse of black sails among the white, among the Navy flags there was one soaring higher and bigger.

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

Sam just had time to catch the glare of a sword in the crowd before the trap door opened.

There was no pressure on his neck, Sam dropped under the platform and through an open manhole, landing in a pile of grimy sheets.

“I can’t believe it. It worked! What am I talking about? Of course it did, it was my idea.”

Sam opened his eyes and found himself face to face with one of his crewmates.

“How--”

“Short story, too long to tell now. Hands up.” Ash ordered and quickly took off his handcuffs before he tugged him on his feet and started guiding him through the sewer tunnels.

“Dean!”

“He’s got Bobby and Caleb, he’ll be fine. Run.”

He wasn’t sure how he managed to keep up and run down the tunnel, letting Ash lead the way from the citadel and over to the harbor where Ash helped him climb to the surface and get on board the ship.

Sam looked around, fingers brushing on the silver plating of the banister, over the rough ropes.

That smell of old and new, of wood and paint because his brother could not let a month pass without touching up on this or that spot where salt ruined the original color of the boards. Home.

Sam walked up to the helm and let his hands trail along the handles of the wheel and down the pedestal until he found the letters carved there by two children who should have not been able to wield knives. SW DW.

He was home.

Sam felt his legs shake and two strong hands grabbed his shoulders. Instinctively Sam moved to knock down his opponent but the other preceded him, trapping his arms.

“Easy tiger.”

“Dean?”

His brother chuckled. “You’re out of practice.”

Sam started laughing, letting Dean wrap him in a hug and stroking his hair and his face.

“It’s okay, Sammy. I got you.” He reassured. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He told him, leading him to the Captain’s quarters.

“Dad?”

“Hasn’t been home in a while. Following some lead West.”

Sam nodded and followed Dean in one of the two cabins, the one they shared ever since they were little.

“Dean? Dean, Pastor Jim…I-I--”

“I know, I know you didn’t do it.” Dean said before he could. “There were traces of sulfur on the body. That demon…”

“Brady. I thought he was a friend. We joined together.”

“I couldn’t catch him, he ran. We’ll get him next time, we’ll make him pay. For everything.”

It felt nice to hear Dean talk plural. Sam sat on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes while Dean helped him undress and cleaned the blood and grim off him with a wet cloth. His hands were gentle, delicate and familiar on Sam’s body, a certainty that helped him stay sharp despite the tiredness and pain.

Once cleaned, Dean wrapped him in a soft robe. Silk and elaborate motifs, part of some loot from the Orient.

“Drink. Slow.”

Sam coughed out the first sip. “That’s not water.”

“No, it’s rum. Lesson number one of your re-education to the buccaneer life.”

Sam emptied the glass in two sips, if only to shut up his brother, and let himself fall back on the bed with a groan. “What is lesson number two?” He asked around a yawn.

Dean tucked him in, then laid down behind him and wrapped one arm around his waist, kissing his hair.

“Next time you scare me like that I’m going to kill you and then I’ll bring you back so I can kill you again.”

It was a whisper, almost too low to hear, an admission.

“Promise.”

Sam answered in the same tone, letting himself be lulled in a deep sleep while the sun filtered through the window, warming up his face.

***

12 months later

Less than half an hour to sunrise.

Sam was leaning against the banister on the bow, staring out at the horizon.

His hair was longer, a red bandana kept it in place; his shirt was spotless white, a sharp contrast with the black of his breeches and the tattoo adorning the left side of his chest.

Dean and Sam commanded the Impala now; they lost John a few months after they resumed hunting.

They turned the Captain’s cabin in a room where they could keep all documents, maps and books that would help them in their mission.

Sam and Dean kept sharing the same room they grew up into.

Their crew was changed: some old friends of John decided to try their luck solo instead of following two kids half their years; some young people decided to try their luck and follow in the steps of the famous Winchester brothers.

“It’s time.”

Sam said as he caught a glimpse of white sails.

Dean left the helm to Bobby and came over, dressed all in black, the bronze amulet around his neck and his guns the only colors on him. He took the telescope and opened it, looking through it.

“Niveus.” It was the ship’s name. “Are you sure?”

Sam took the telescope and aimed it at the helm, immediately recognizing the one operating the ship. Tyson Brady. He nodded.

“Crew!” Dean called.

“Hoist the sails!”

Sam ordered while he and Dean climbed on the starboard banister; they would be the first to board the enemy ship. The first, and last, thing that demon would see.

When the first lights of the day would appear behind them, the Impala would emerge from the darkness that surrounded it like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

Its crew armed with guns and swords, its cannons ready to shoot cannonballs and salt.

Its flag would wave ominously: a skull with a gun and a demon blade in his hands. Two weapons for two Captains.

“Hoist the flag!”

Just a few seconds to sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> *Adiuva me. Egeo frater meus: Help me. I need my brother.  
> (There is a 100% chance this translation might not be 100% accurate, it's been a while since I practiced any Latin so I trusted google.)
> 
> The WCCS Italian group chose this prompt for our summer challenge and, since I didn't hate the result, I decided to translate it in English as well. I'm sorry for the mistakes!
> 
> Thank you for reading! :D  
> Comments, kudos, criticisms and advices are always welcome.


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